"No, please," Sebastian croaked.
Dracula threw his head back and released a primal bellow that shook the night. Instantly, Sebastian was in his grasp, his head savagely yanked to the side as his jugular was assaulted by massive fangs.
"Yes, drink," Elizabeth crooned, excitement thrumming through her. "Drain him of his daylight essence and leave him like he left me, trembling and weak, near extinction."
She watched the stronger male entity fill himself as the weaker one struggled and twisted to no avail. Desire flogged her entire being as she witnessed the erotic scene, loving every moment of how Vlad greedily heaved in deep gulps of black blood till it ran from the corners of his mouth. Then he threw back his head, sated, stronger,more alive-the color reviving beneath his skin, his fangs now white and glistening instead of yellow and gnarled. Gone were his skeletal features as healthy-looking human skin began to cover his bones, fashioning him back into the handsome warrior of old that he'd been.
Time seemed to stand still as he looked at Sebastian and smiled, eyes meeting in a silent exchange of bitter understanding. Two large tears slipped from the corners of Sebastian's eyes as he closed them to his fate and Dracula released the pike he'd been holding.
A black current of force sent the pike flying in a goring spiral that moved faster than Sebastian's vocal cords, entering his body through one orifice and coming out his mouth with blood and guts. A hard flick of Vlad's right hand caused the slicked pike to descend into Hell like a flaming arrow, carrying a burning Sebastian. With a heat-seeking missile's voracity, the pike dove into Hell to penetrate Sebastian's throne in Vampire Council Chambers.
Dracula slid off his mount, outrage still glistening in his eyes. "Come to me, my love. You have given medaylight -a conquest I never achieved before my unfortunate demise. Feed from my veins and heal your abominable condition. Bring me bodies while my army replenishes itself for battle."
"Then what would you have me do," she murmured, moving toward him cautiously.
He smiled wickedly and fully removed his helmet, then shook out his shoulder-length brunet tresses. "I have impaled your imposter husband-marriage cancelled. After hundreds of years away . . . it is only fitting that I also impale you."
Emotionally spent, but with a new spirit of determination, the team trudged upstairs to the spacious meeting rooms and private living quarters.
"Sister Sylvia and Brother Muata are bringing you all some vegan platters . . . and we'll gather up the clothing and sandals and silver you selected," Owa said with a calm, satisfied smile. "We'll put each outfit in an individual mud cloth bag for you so you can use the facilities to freshen up and have a place to keep your fatigues when you go to the jazz fest tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"Marlene said, drawing the group's focus.
"Yes . . . it runs Friday through Labor Day."
Damali glanced at Dan and then Owa. "We thought it was Saturday through . . . never mind. I guess I was just hoping the team could adjust before . . . that we'd have some time to get our bearings and do a little more research before . . ." Damali threw up her hands. "Marlene said it right. We were getting comfortable, sloppy-guilty as charged."
"Oh, no!"Marlene said quickly, spinning around and then cringing. "Speaking of sloppy-my black mud cloth bag . . . all these years, how stupid!The Temt Tchaas! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black-I left it in the house in San Diego!"
"No, you didn't," Carlos said, pulling it through the ether for her. "That's one of the first things I always jettison to a safe house, then I move everything else. I always got your back, Mar."
Marlene walked over and hugged him. "For a man with a lot on his mind, you sure keep a lot on your mind. Thank you."
"De nada, Mom," Carlos replied and hugged her hard. "It's cool. We're all off."
They both smiled and a silent thought leapt from Carlos's mind into Marlene's.Gotta know what's gonna happen next with Damali and our kid, you know .
Marlene just patted the side of his face and nodded.
"This great hall room," Owa said with flourish, "has seen Nelson Mandela, Malcolm X, so many greats I cannot begin to recount . . . and now the Neteru Guardian squad?" She fanned her face and a bright smile graced her lips. "The Detroit team is going to be here bringing water, blankets and sleeping bags, air mattresses . . . we have VIPs in the house and most of us have been waiting all our lives for this moment. You all can use this room as your war room and weapons area. I'll get some pallets readied for you so you can rest. It's been a long time, since Panther days, that we've had a visitation like this. . . . We have some couches and pullouts, some old bedrolls. But we never have visitors like this anymore. We gonna pour libations and eat plenty and tell stories and keep the watch."
Carlos and Damali forced smiles and shared a private glance. Rapid-fire telepathic communication whizzed back and forth between them in a split second as Damali approached their kind hostess.
Damali, maybe I'm wrong, but . . . I'm getting the distinct impression that this particular Guardian team has been primarily focused on the civil rights front and the free the Diaspora struggle, not the demon-hunting front.
Oh, God, Carlos, I know. They've been dealing with human atrocitiesand keeping the spirit of justice alive, pouring libations for that and whatnot . . . but I haven't seen nary a weapon up in this joint.
Shit, D, what have we gotten these innocents into? They're getting Guardians to come, the house is gonna fill up-and I think they think we're gonna be telling old revolutionary tales while we sing "Kumbiyah." They're doing a heads of state thing, nota hunker down and get ready to rumble kinda thing. She probably thought Yonnie was speaking in the abstract as a seer or from some past life memory, not the real deal.
If it gets hot, we abandon this building to save it and everyone in here and take the fight to the streets.
Sounds like a plan, Carlos said in a mental jettison, wiping his his face with his fist.
Maybe they just do things differently in Detroit? We gotta ask 'Bazz when the coast is clear.
Before any hint of a mental conversation could be detected or a lack of response taken for rudeness, Damali went to Owa and hugged her. "Thank you for the sanctuary. We're both honored and humbled by it."
CHAPTER TEN